


A Soft Place

by sussexbound (SamanthaLenore)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 08:42:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1298620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamanthaLenore/pseuds/sussexbound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I thought you were seeing Greg?"<br/>"I am."<br/>"Then why exactly is Sherlock in your bed?"<br/>"He’s tired.  He needed a safe place to be for awhile."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Soft Place

John is standing in Molly’s small, cramped kitchen; back ramrod straight, his left hand squeezing into a fist and then releasing—squeezing, releasing, in a painful tell.

"I thought you were seeing Greg?"

"I am."

"Then why exactly is Sherlock in your bed?"

"He’s tired.  He needed a safe place to be for awhile."

"Sa—safe place…?"  John turns away with a bitter smile.  "And Baker Street is suddenly fraught with dangers, is it?"

Molly shifts the bowl of popcorn she is holding from one arm to the other.  ”In a way.”

John is biting hard at the inside of his cheek, she can tell.  He is trying hard not to say all the angry words forming around the lump in his throat.  

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"  He finally spits.

"Shhh…"  She raises a finger to her lips.  "It means that he is all alone there, now, and he needs someone to have a care for him, John.  You know that."

"Oh, and you think you’re the perfect girl for the job, do you?"

And suddenly she is so angry - angrier than she can ever remember being.  She steps forward, until they are nearly toe to toe.  ”No, John.  You are.  But you’ve made it more than clear that you don’t want it!” she shouts in a harsh whisper.   _That you don’t want him…_ (floating unspoken in the air between them).

And she sees the moment it sinks in, the moment that John’s posture changes from defensive to defeated.

"So let him sleep," she begs.  "Please."

She almost wishes that John would push past her, down the hall to her room, through the door; shut her out, and be what he needs to be, do what he so obviously longs to do.  But she knows he won’t, and she’s right.

He just nods, clears his throat.  ”Yeah, um… Right.  I’ll—I’ll just…”  He pauses, and glances briefly over his shoulder to the hall that leads to her room before taking a deep breath, holding it, and then releasing again.  ”I—I’ll go then.”

And Molly simply nods in return.

When he leaves, Molly takes her bowl of popcorn and returns to the couch, clicks play on the DVD player and scratches behind her cat’s ears, swatting him away when he attempts a sly theft of a kernel or two.

She settles in for a good rewatch of Casablanca.  

Greg will be over later.  They might get a take-away.  It’s late, but she’s not really eaten since morning when Sherlock showed up on her doorstep, soaked to the skin, looking as though his best friend had just died.  And in a way, she supposes that isn’t too far from the sad reality of it all.

She used to think that everything would be fine, that they would figure it out, that someone would say whatever it was that needed to be said, or that one or the other of them would take that first terrifying step.  But, now she’s not so sure, and it’s breaking her heart.  


End file.
